


Ritual (10): Ten Times

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [10]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Depression, Dominant Nathan, Empathic Peter, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Orgasm, Gay Sex, Heroes: Volume 1, Kink Negotiation, Loving Nathan, M/M, Morning After, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Petrelli family drama, Petrellicest, Pre-Season/Series 01, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Summer Vacation, Teenage Drama, True Love, Unhealthy Relationships, Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: Celebrating ten Ritual stories with some rampant porn! A sort-of sequel to Ritual (4). Alone at the summer house in Vermont, eight years before the eclipse, Peter and Nathan challenge each other in all sorts of ways. Filthy, fluffy, angsty, silly, poignant.





	Ritual (10): Ten Times

_From Ritual (9): _

_Nathan: "Saturday in Vermont, you came nine, ten times, easy." _

_Peter: "Yeah, but not in a row." _

_.............. _

_MAY 1999, EIGHT YEARS BEFORE THE ECLIPSE..._

Peter woke at dawn with Nathan still in his arms.  
  
He had never woken up next to someone who he had had sex with the night before. He had always assumed that during the night, they would break apart with the natural movements of sleep. But this was the position in which they had fallen asleep, Peter's face pressed between Nathan's shoulder blades, lips inches away from the two fading scars he had been kissing.  
  
He slid over and watched Nathan sleep for a while. If possible, Nathan was even more beautiful while he slept, with his moth-like eyelashes spread across the ridges of his high cheekbones, and his curved mouth even more pouty. Peter wanted to kiss him, but Nathan was in REM sleep, his eyes darting fitfully under closed lids and his body completely slack. He looked incredibly tired, as though he had been chasing his dream for a long time.  
  
Peter decided to let Nathan keep sleeping.  
  
Yawning, Peter sat up and swung his legs down over the edge of the bed. He felt his insides throb, suddenly and intensely, and involuntarily curled his arms around his belly. It didn't hurt that much; and what pain there was quickly disappeared under a wave of lustful memories and excited realizations.  
  
_We did it. Finally. It's really real now. I'm not making it up. He wasn't just jerking me off, or fingerbanging me like some middle-school girl in the back of the car; he fucked me... properly... he meant it. He looked at me like... He touched me like... Oh, my God, and we're alone! Three days, and a whole house to ourselves..._  
  
In the bathroom, Peter gingerly handled his morning erection, today a thousand times more sensitive than usual. He usually masturbated first thing in the morning, even before getting out of bed, just to make getting up worthwhile. It was a habit he'd gotten into when he was just a kid; it had, in a way, grown out of rocking himself for comfort for a few minutes when he first woke up, which he did when he was an even smaller kid. He just figured that he always woke up lonely.  
  
Not today, though.  
  
_Nathan... sleeping beside me, looking exhausted, overfucked, beautiful. Nathan finally gave in and let go and trusted me. And more importantly, trusted himself. It happened. No matter what, we did it, and it was wonderful. He can try to deny it; he can say that it never happened, that he didn't enjoy it... But I know the truth... Oh God, I'm so hard. I can't do anything else until I take care of this._  
  
The only thing in the bathroom even remotely lube-like was shampoo, so he squeezed a little into his palm and began to methodically stroke himself, staring into space in a half-bored, still-half-asleep daze.  
  
Within a few seconds, though, the feeling of his fingers on his cock reminded him of the feeling of different fingers there - longer, rougher fingers, holding him gently, then squeezing and pulling the skin even tighter... followed by a hot, wet, firmly caressing mouth and a gravelly hum, the signal for something delicious.  
  
_My God, Nathan... you've ruined me...!_  
  
"Ah!" Peter gave a short, sharp exhalation, and broke into a smile, feeling his guts tug inside him, the root of his cock, his balls, twanging like a rubber band.  
  
Sudden, tingling, like a slap, over all too soon.  
  
Usually, that was enough. Today, though, it didn't feel like it - the orgasm had instead just made his whole body feel electric - and it didn't look like it, either. Peter gingerly washed the shampoo off his tingling, still-erect organ, regretting using the soap as it foamed all over the place.  
  
_Wish I'd gotten some real lube before we left town, but I was so depressed when we left that I actually wasn't thinking about sex for a change. Oh, well. At least I'm clean,_ he mused, once it had finally all been rinsed off. _And my balls won't have dandruff._  
  
He returned to the bedroom to put on his T-shirt, shorts, and socks. He decided not to disturb Nathan; his brother was now face-down on the bed, clenching the pillow in his arms, his legs and feet lightly twitching. Still chasing whatever he was dreaming about.  
  
Peter always had a wicked coffee craving first thing in the morning. It was a decent routine - wake, wank, pee, caffeine, pull-ups, deal with the day. Usually the wank made the erection go away, though. Not today. And there wasn't any place in this house for him to do pull-ups.  
  
Down in the kitchen, Peter poured boiling water over coffee grounds in the French press, stirred it, and then went back upstairs. He promised himself just one kiss, and then he'd just go beat off again. When he got to the bedroom, though, Nathan was now on his back, his eyes slightly open.  
  
Peter yanked his shorts off and climbed on top of Nathan, kissing his lips, cheeks, chin, forehead, rubbing his naked hard-on against Nathan's stomach. Nathan mumbled faintly, "Hey... get off me... g'rmm'bl... sleep."  
  
"Fuck me," Peter whispered. "Fuck me, please." Peter put one knee on either side of Nathan's waist, sat up, and pulled his T-shirt off, flinging it across the room.  
  
"What?" Nathan sighed, making a face. "Go away."  
  
"Please? I'll bring you breakfast in bed." Peter's hands ran long, firm strokes up and down Nathan's lean, muscular sides, bending over and dropping a kiss onto each of Nathan's nipples.  
  
Nathan tried to smack Peter away, but he was still uncoordinated and clumsy, and Peter easily grabbed Nathan's hands and kissed Nathan's palms. Nathan groaned with annoyance. "I dun' wan' breakfast in bed. I want sleep." Nathan turned over onto his side, and Peter immediately slid behind him, wrapping his arms around Nathan, covering his back with hungry kisses.  
  
"Fuck me and then you can go back to sleep. Okay?" Peter nuzzled his face against the back of Nathan's head, pushing his erection against the small of Nathan's back. "Please? If you fuck me right now...um... you can have control of the radio all weekend."  
  
Nathan didn't reply immediately. "On the drive back, too?"  
  
"I'm not going back with you. I'm going to stay the week."  
  
"By yourself? Hmm." Nathan sounded suddenly interested. His breathing had changed; he wasn't going back to sleep right away, whether or not he wanted to. "You gonna be okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Peter replied, kissing the back of Nathan's neck, running his hands over Nathan's sides, the right hand sliding across Nathan's hips to his groin, feeling that Nathan had a hint of morning wood himself, taking Nathan's cock in his hand and gently pulling on it, willing it to get bigger and harder. "I just want to be alone for a bit to figure some things out."  
  
Nathan took a deeper breath, and his hand met Peter's, joined it in stroking himself. Peter began rubbing himself up and down against Nathan's back, taking quick, almost hyperventilating breaths, wondering if he was just going to get off right here. Nathan gave a faint, sleepy chuckle, and said, "Can I have the first shower? There won't be enough hot water for two."  
  
"You got it," Peter agreed. "Toast? Waffles...?" He kissed Nathan's ear.  
  
"Waffles," Nathan said. "Always take waffles."  
  
Peter kissed the back of Nathan's neck, then broke away from him for a moment to recover the bowl of oil they'd used last night, with just a little bit left in the bottom. It was enough. He handed the bowl to Nathan and hissed, "Now. Please."  
  
Nathan's narrowed eyes sparkled. Oh, he was awake now, all right. "Slut."  
  
Peter grinned. "Yeah? You know it."  
  
"Aren't you sore?"  
  
Of course he was, but he wasn't about to admit it. "We'll find out."  
  
When Nathan penetrated him, they moaned and sighed in unison, Peter against the mattress and Nathan against the back of Peter's neck. "Oh... I fucked you wide open..." Nathan murmured. "It's so easy now."  
  
"Still good?" Peter whispered, gritting his teeth.  
  
"So good. So tight. So new. Still."  
  
"Oh, it's so — _uh_!"  
  
"You love that, huh? You love that. I can't believe you can even walk today. God... you're amazing. You're — perfect, you know that? You're the perfect — fuck toy. Even if you did — wake me up — trying to sleep — thought I'd fucked you quiet last night." Nathan was being very gentle and slow, holding Peter's pelvis and moving Peter back onto him with sudden slight jerks of his arms. It was a lazy way of fucking, to be sure, but even so, enough; almost more than Peter could take.  
  
Peter wanted more, anyway, even though he knew it might hurt. "Sleep later - you know how long I've been wanting this? Deeper! Oh, God, deeper! Harder! Yes! Like _that_!"  
  
Peter quivered, then convulsed underneath Nathan, screaming into the mattress, his arms corded from the effort of withstanding the orgasm rocketing through his body.  
  
Hard, ferocious, dirty, a little painful with the bed sheets scraping the head of his cock, but not too much. Never too much. But again, over too soon. He still wanted more.  
  
Nathan held him closely for a moment before letting go, pulling out. Peter half turned over, his eyes wide with concern. "You didn't come," he said, confused.  
  
Nathan shook his head with a faint smile. "No, I don't need to."  
  
"So you can just... fuck and not get off...?"  
  
"Yeah," Nathan said. "I'll save it. For when I'm awake."  
  
"Oh... I couldn't do that. I _have_ to get off. I'd go _crazy_ if I didn't." Peter rolled over and wrapped his arms around Nathan, feverishly kissing Nathan on the face and neck. "I'll do whatever you want me to. I'm always and totally and forever your sex slave; seriously."  
  
Nathan laughed. "That's saying a lot, Pete."  
  
"Forever," Peter insisted, looking vaguely embarrassed, but also determined. "I'm serious. You know. You've always known."  
  
"No, I didn't always know. I couldn't know that." Nathan gave Peter a short kiss. "How could I know that?" Unsaid: _How could I let myself know that?_  
  
Peter read Nathan's expression, though; and he drew back, too, smiling tentatively, trying to shield himself from what he'd just said, what he'd just done. Protecting Nathan from it. He couldn't scare Nathan away; not now. He couldn't blame Nathan for feeling freaked out, because _what the fuck had they just done? Again?!_  
  
But still... fundamentally... Peter understood that he needed this. That Nathan did, too. That they had to be strong and brave and smart for each other. And part of what Peter had to do was keep Nathan together.  
  
"Breakfast, coming right up," Peter said, trying to be matter-of-fact and chummy. "Syrup on your waffles?"  
  
Nathan smiled at him, then shook his head, and gave a short laugh, as if enjoying how nutty Peter was. "Nah... just butter; but put sugar in my coffee. You're gonna make coffee, right?"  
  
"It's already made," Peter said, feeling a touch of guilt for leaving the grounds in the water for too long without pressing them. The coffee would be bitter and sour because Peter just couldn't wait to get fucked. "Actually, I'll make it again; it'll be cold."  
  
Peter made fresh coffee and the waffles, and brought them up to Nathan on a single plate to share. The waffles weren't particularly great, but Peter had been liberal with the butter, which helped. They ate with their fingers, tearing pieces off the stack, occasionally feeding each other and laughing, and it seemed to Peter to be the best meal he'd ever had.  
  
Peter mused to himself that he hoped that his honeymoon would be this good. Hoped that Nathan's honeymoon would be. It wouldn't be right if Nathan could only have fun like this with him; he deserved to have it with the right girl. _Even if it takes Nathan away from me forever._ Suddenly Peter lost his appetite, and set down a chunk of waffle that had been headed for his mouth.  
  
"What's the matter?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Just thinking," Peter replied vaguely.  
  
"You shouldn't think," Nathan said. "Ruins your looks." He stroked his buttery thumb across Peter's lower lip.  
  
Peter asked abruptly, "Do you love me?"  
  
"Of course I do. Why do you even doubt it?"  
  
"I don't know. It just seems too good to be true."  
  
"Why? Stop being so insecure. Look, I love you; never doubt it; it'd be like thinking... gravity no longer applies to you. I wouldn't be... here, if I didn't. Love you and want you." Nathan blinked, and shook his head. "Okay, shower time. And then we should get back to work. I've got to fix that boiler; three minutes' worth of hot water is not going to cut it for your mother."  
  
"Huh. _Your_ mother."  
  
"Jump in the shower with me," Nathan said, smiling. "Unless you want to go around all day stinking like a gay Greek disco."  
  
It was Peter's bright idea to shower "desert style" — standing under the water for thirty seconds, just enough to get thoroughly wet, keeping the drain closed to catch the water, then turning the water off while they got soapy. "Goddammit, Peter," Nathan said abruptly, almost sounding annoyed, waiting for Peter to hand him the soap.  
  
"What?" Peter replied, sudsing his chest and armpits.  
  
"You've still got a hard-on."  
  
Peter glanced down with a half-smile. The tumescence had gone down substantially, but Nathan was right; Peter's cock stood out stiffly in front of him. Peter felt himself blushing. "Yeah..." he admitted sheepishly. "I can't help it. It's you. You're naked, right here. I'm looking at you. We're naked and wet and it's awesome. This is just what my body does."  
  
Nathan was trying not to smile back, but the smile won. "God, I remember being eighteen." Nathan took the bar of soap, and set it back onto the shelf, instead wrapping his arms around Peter, sudsing himself with the soap on Peter's skin, kissing Peter's lips. Nathan bent down and gathered water from the floor of the shower into his cupped hands, pouring it over Peter's belly. "Jack off for me," he whispered. "It looks... uncomfortable."  
  
"Uncomfortable?" Peter replied dazedly, touching himself, shuddering a little; he was still electric, like a thin sheet of static charge just underneath the skin, lighting up where it connected with his fingers. The slight rawness just enhanced everything, especially when Nathan poured more handfuls of water over him, cascading over his crotch and his hands. "Yes... I ... guess it is."  
  
"I didn't get to see you come," Nathan murmured, straightening up, his eyes focused on Peter's hands. "I could feel it from inside you... but I didn't see it. I want to watch." The sound of Nathan's voice was like another hand, reaching into Peter, stroking... his heart? His soul? Whatever it was that was incomplete without Nathan? (All of him?)  
  
It came on fast and sudden, like a sneeze. "Ohhhh God..." Peter hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, and whimpering, then crying aloud, feeling his balls twitch in the palm of his hand, and the rubber-band snap-and-twang inside him, his spunk coming out three thin spurts, running over his fingers.  
  
Nowhere near as intense this time as the last. Still not what he was hoping for, but Peter just couldn't respond anymore at the moment.  
  
Nathan smiled and sighed, "Oh... nice."  
  
"I think... that's taken care of it," Peter said, breathing heavily. "I think I can get stuff done now."  
  
Nathan lifted Peter's spunk-drenched hand and licked the fingers, then made a funny face. "You still taste like soap."  
  
"Oops." Peter couldn't help giggling. The next two minutes, rinsing off under the spray that suddenly turned cold, Peter kissed Nathan's mouth until they couldn't taste the soap anymore.

* * *

  
Peter had almost never done yard work before in his life, and he was terrible at it.  
  
He wasn't going to have to mow the lawn or anything like that — a professional gardener would come on Monday afternoon and deal with all the major, cosmetic stuff — but he had to clear away tangles of weeds and dead leaves from the walkways and shove them into big yard debris bags. He got so dusty, bug-bitten, scratched, and sweaty after two hours that he desperately wanted a cold shower.  
  
He was a soft-handed, milk-skinned, upper-class city boy, and he cursed himself for it. He wanted to work, but he just wasn't used to it. He vowed to do some real, hands-on, helpful work from now on. It was like exercise — he had no doubt that it would get easier, the more he did it.  
  
Peter went back into the gardening shed to get more plastic bags, and almost ran into Nathan, who was standing in the doorway of the small, low building. Nathan was all filthy, his white Navy T-shirt covered in black oil splotches, rust stains, and mud, and a few dirty smudges on his face where he'd wiped off sweat with the back of his arm. But Nathan grinned and laughed at Peter. "Wow, you look like something the cat wouldn't drag in," he said. "Like you got into a fight with a hay ride and lost."  
  
"What was that, grease monkey?" Peter replied, arching his eyebrow. He had almost never seen Nathan even slightly dirty, and he hadn't expected to have such an intense spike of attraction to him in a grimy T-shirt and even dirtier, close-fitting Wrangler jeans. He tried to look away, but couldn't; Nathan was staring at him, too, looking Peter up and down with a strange smirk on his face.  
  
"Are you drinking water?" Nathan asked, holding up a plastic bottle.  
  
"Oh... uh... no. Thanks." Peter dropped his gardening gloves, then took the bottle and drained half of it, splashing some over his dusty, sweaty face. "How ya doin'?"  
  
"You've got a sunburn..." Nathan trailed his fingers through water droplets along the bridge of Peter's nose. "You should have worn a hat."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes and pushed his hair back, feeling sweat and water trickling down his temples, wiping his forehead on the shoulder of his T-shirt. "I asked you how _you're_ doing."  
  
"Kiss me," said Nathan softly. "Please."  
  
His heart suddenly pounding, Peter leaned in and brought his lips against Nathan's, seeking out Nathan's crotch with his hand; sure enough, Nathan showed signs of additional interest. "You must really like pipes," Peter quipped, trying to keep control of himself.  
  
Nathan didn't respond to Peter's banter; he held Peter steady and kissed him more deeply, arching his hips up against Peter's hand. Nathan's lips were bitter and salty, but with a hint of sweetness, as though he'd had some more sugary coffee a moment ago. As much as he wanted to just keep tasting Nathan, Peter turned away to breathe, firmly groping Nathan's hardening cock through his jeans. "You want me to suck this for you?" Peter murmured.  
  
"No, I want _you_. Watching you isn't enough. I want it in my mouth."  
  
It was almost enough to make Peter come right then and there. "You're gonna get me dirty," he joked, his shaky voice confessing everything that he really felt.  
  
Nathan kept that strange smile on his face. "You're already dirty."  
  
Peter watched Nathan kneel on a coil of garden hose on the concrete floor of the shed, then closed his eyes. Nathan unbuttoned and unzipped Peter's jeans, and pushed Peter's underwear down, just enough to expose cock and balls, but still clinging to Peter's thighs, keeping Peter's legs more or less together. He trained his breath against Peter's genitals, but didn't touch, making Peter so frustrated that Peter spat, "Oh, fucking hell," and shoved his cock into Nathan's mouth with his fingers.  
  
Nathan gave that satisfied moan again, and Peter rolled his eyes in annoyance. Nathan and his weird kinks; he couldn't just ask for it... no. "You want to suck this dick?" Peter muttered. "You want to suck it? You better do it. Nobody's telling you no, Nathan. You should just do it. You should just do whatever you want to me. Like I'm going to stop you." Peter gasped and bit his lip as Nathan suddenly began to suck hard and insistently. "Oh!... poor Nathan, I feel... so sorry for you. Just been waiting _so long_ for the day... you could corner me in the shed and _suck_ — _me_ — _off_! _Oh!_... God damn it..."  
  
Peter felt the hard twang inside him just as Nathan took his mouth away, murmuring, "Yeah, that's right — oh — shit." Nathan put his mouth back, but too late to catch the warm jet of semen spilling out. Nathan got a little into his mouth, but most of it just ran down over Peter's clasping fingers. Peter gave a growl of frustration, and pulled his sweat-soaked T-shirt off over his head, using the hem to wipe himself off. Nathan frowned at him. "I wasn't done," he complained.  
  
"Yes, you were. Fucker."  
  
Nathan's frown shimmered into a smile. "Are you _mad_?"  
  
Peter realized that he was, for some reason. Why was he disappointed? He didn't give a damn whether or not he succeeded in coming in Nathan's mouth. And it wasn't like they wouldn't have another chance. (Later. Not now. At the moment, Peter felt like he could never ejaculate again, and he didn't want to.) "I'm not a ... a _dispenser_."  
  
Nathan laughed. "Sure you are."  
  
"God, leave me alone." Peter knocked Nathan off balance with his knee, and hiked up his pants again, putting everything away. Nathan, sprawled on his butt on the floor, kept laughing. "Fuck off. I've got work to do," Peter sniped.  
  
Nathan stood up and brushed down the knees of his jeans, grinning and shaking his head. "Drink that water, and go inside and put some sunscreen on," he said. "Lunch in an hour. And for a slave, you sure have a shitty attitude."  
  
"Dick," Peter muttered, walking outside, the sound of Nathan's laughter following him.

* * *

  
After lunch, they sat for a while in the side room of the house. It was like being in a dry greenhouse, surrounded by blooming cacti and aloes. Peter put some aloe gel from a freshly broken stem onto his face, then lay on the varnished bamboo rug in the middle of the floor, wearing just his underwear, while Nathan sat on the leather sofa, still wearing a fresh T-shirt and the same dirty jeans. After a few minutes, though, Nathan stripped off his clothes, too — all of them — and sat down on his folded jeans on the rug next to Peter. Nathan drew a line with his fingers down the center of Peter's torso, ending abruptly at the waistband of Peter's shorts. "Can I take these off?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Yes, master," Peter whispered.  
  
Nathan chuckled, and removed that last scrap of Peter's clothes. Peter gazed at him serenely. "You... tasted really good out there," Nathan said hesitantly. "I like the taste of your sweat. I didn't mean to make it seem like I was using you."  
  
"You were," Peter replied, "and you are, and you should... and I like it." Peter took Nathan's hand, and brought it back to the point where his fingers had stopped. Nathan trailed his fingers back up toward Peter's throat. "I want you to use me," Peter whispered, his damp throat sliding a little against Nathan's fingers. "If that's what it takes... use me, please."  
  
"It's not like that, Peter."  
  
"It's okay if it is."  
  
"I'm telling you, it's not. Look at me." Nathan poked Peter in the arm. "It's not like that. I love you. You're so much better than you think you are — so much more." Nathan lowered his gaze, and shook his head. "I don't know what _this_ is. But I can tell you right now that I'm not using you. I'm having fun with you. I'm enjoying you. I'm enjoying this." He sighed sadly, and smiled. "This might not ever happen again. It shouldn't happen again. But for right now? It's the two of us. And you are... exceptional. Unique. I love you more than anything in the world. And I love watching you come. I love fucking you." Nathan's voice lowered, ambiguous with wonder. "It's _really good_. We have something... magical together. Something special. It's not supposed to be this way."  
  
"Maybe... that's why it's really good," Peter said quietly.  
  
"Yeah, probably." Nathan sighed. His eyes glistened. "It's fucked up."  
  
"Mmmm... is it too hot to hug me?" Peter asked.  
  
"No."  
  
Nice there, on the cool, rough bamboo slats, listening to the bird calls and the wind rustling in the trees, and the faintest sound of traffic in the distance like waves on an ocean. Peter almost wanted to fall asleep, but then Nathan was kissing him, and arousal rose up between them again in a haze of sweat and heated breaths. Peter thought of the morning, about how Nathan hadn't gotten off, and he slid down and pushed Nathan over onto his back, taking Nathan's half-erect cock in his hand. Nathan gave an uneasy laugh of surprise, which dissolved into pleased, quiet moaning as Peter gave him firm, slow strokes with palm, fingers, and thumb. Nathan only exhaled quietly — a soft sigh of happiness — when Peter curled himself over and went down on him.  
  
"I've always wanted this," Peter whispered. "Thank you."  
  
"Anything for you," Nathan replied, sounding dizzy. "Oh... I think you're gonna have it. This one, I'll give you... if you want it. You want it? You gotta be good... and not make a mess."  
  
"I'll be good."  
  
"Don't spill a drop," Nathan panted. "Not a drop."  
  
And Peter didn't. Nathan didn't cry out when he came, just gave a shaky gasp, his fingers clenching tightly in Peter's hair. Peter had to hold his breath and wait for Nathan to release his hold before he could swallow the mouthful, and he immediately grabbed for the water bottle and took several big gulps of water to wash it down. It didn't taste bad, but Peter hoped that he never had to hold come in his mouth for that long again. Peter wasn't grossed out by much, but that was enough to do it.  
  
But it was a good, intensely erotic kind of grossed-out, and Peter knew that he would think of it while masturbating for the rest of his life.  
  
Peter set down the water bottle, and straddled Nathan's thighs, squeezing aloe out of the broken stem onto his hand and stroking himself again. He wasn't as sore and sensitive as he'd been that morning, which made things easier; the aloe felt lovely and cool against his skin. Nathan smiled at him. "Oh, Pete," he sighed. "You just don't stop, do you?"  
  
Already, though, Peter was coming again, shooting a white liquid stripe across Nathan's glistening belly; feeling no reason to stop with one, Peter increased the rhythm of his hand, letting out a rising series of whines and yelps as he felt the orgasm he'd been wanting to happen all day finally beginning to unleash. "Oh fuck! Yes! _That!_ Oh!"  
  
This is what he was after — that rollercoaster flip of dizzy ecstasy, seeing gorgeous and intricate patterns behind closed eyelids, like fireworks exploding into birds, then fluttering back into drifting sparks, and darkness — that religious experience, that moment of perfect interconnectedness with all of existence.  
  
The only thing that made it better was sharing it with Nathan.  
  
"Hey... You all right?" Nathan chuckled after a moment.  
  
Peter sighed and sighed, gradually more quietly. "Gimme a second."  
  
"You little sex machine." He caressed Peter's back. "That looked like fun. But come back to earth now — those walkways aren't going to clear themselves up. You still need to rake."  
  
"Rake—! Uggh. Can't we just pay some people to do the rest of this? I want a nap." Peter lay back onto the rug and stretched out, his body streaming with sweat.  
  
"C'mon, Pete. Builds character. Be glad you don't have to dig through some strangers' plumbing. I've seen things in those pipes that would give you nightmares."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Peter felt cranky now, knowing that he couldn't just slip directly into sleep the way he wanted.  
  
"Let's go into town for dinner," Nathan suggested. "I don't feel like cooking tonight. We've got to pick up milk, anyway."  
  
"And lube," Peter suggested.  
  
Nathan rolled his eyes and laughed. "I don't know if we can find it out here."  
  
"Sure we can. It's Vermont; it's not Siberia."  
  
"But it's a Saturday, so stuff might close early. Hurry up and get done. We'll go do the town."

* * *

  
Peter did a half-assed job of raking the walkways clear, unwilling to get blisters on his hands over it. He knew that nobody was expecting him to do a decent job in the first place, and while the work needed to get done by somebody, their mother had sent them along out here just to get Peter out of town.  
  
Something was going on with Dad, and she didn't want Peter around for it.  
  
Peter put his rake and bags away, and wandered off to the shore of the big pond that bounded the property on the north-west side. He took off his clothes again, and lay on top of them on the rocky grass a few feet away from the water. It was nice there in the dappled shade, with a cool breeze blowing towards him from the surface of the pond. He fell into a half-asleep, anxious stupor.  
  
What was up with Ma and Dad? What was up with summering in Vermont, and not the Hamptons? Dad had some weird cases happening, but the details were never discussed anywhere Peter could overhear. He didn't know if Nathan knew, or not, and he felt almost afraid to even ask.  
  
Did Peter trust Nathan? Did Nathan trust him? Why was their family such a mess?  
  
Just out of reflex and instinct, he began touching himself again. Gradually he jacked off faster and faster, gasping to the empty air, driving another orgasm out of himself, and almost knocking himself out as his head jerked backwards and hit a jutting rock.  
  
His aggravated shout of pain and release brought Nathan trotting out from around the curved pathway leading to the house. "Peter?" Nathan called with concern; then, as he spotted Peter sprawled out naked on the ground with a glistening trail of semen on his thigh, halted in his tracks, rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Peter."  
  
"Ow. I hit my head," Peter mumbled, sitting up, wiping himself off with his T-shirt.  
  
"Easy there, kid; you're gonna run out of clothes. Guess you're doing laundry tonight; we already ran through a set of sheets." Nathan crouched next to him, examining the back of Peter's head. "You're fine," he announced. "I think your head's definitely harder than the rock."  
  
"Thanks," Peter groused.  
  
Nathan kissed Peter's forehead. "Are you always like this? Just 'on', all the time?"  
  
"No," Peter replied. "It's just... I dunno. Compulsive. I'm worried. About the folks."  
  
"They're gonna be fine. Don't worry about them."  
  
"They're _gonna_ be fine, so that means they're not fine now?"  
  
"Don't nitpick," Nathan sighed. "That's not what I meant." Nathan put his hands on Peter's shoulders, rubbing his thumbs into the muscles. "They can take care of themselves. We can take care of ourselves. Relax; this is supposed to be a vacation."  
  
"Right, even though we're working our asses off," Peter agreed quietly. "It's nice right here. Stay for a while. How's the boiler?"  
  
"It's fixed," Nathan said. "The pipes are done."  
  
"Kiss me, then," Peter replied. "I'm lonely."  
  
"How can you be lonely? I'm right here," Nathan wondered, but he did as Peter asked. He sat next to his brother and cradled Peter's head in his lap, gently stroking his hair in a circle around his ear. "How did you get to be so lonely, Peter? You're surrounded by people."  
  
"I just have too many feelings, that's all," Peter said, relaxing, letting himself be petted. "Nobody else seems to. When I try to tell people about them, they get scared, or they get hostile, or they ignore me. So I try not to say anything, and it all just builds up and it feels like I'm... drowning. I want to leave, you know? I want to be free. But I don't even know what that means. I mean, I don't want to be free of you, or anything. I don't feel like I can ever leave."  
  
"You're needed, Peter," Nathan murmured. "That's why."  
  
"Needed by who? Nobody needs me."  
  
"I need you, Pete. But you _are_ free, Peter. More than most anybody else in the whole world is. You're eighteen, single, well-off, good-looking, and smart. You can do anything you want now."  
  
"I can't go to Yale," Peter pointed out. "I didn't get in."  
  
"You didn't want to go to Yale, anyway." Nathan tweaked Peter's ear. "Stop looking for excuses to be depressed, Pete, it's weak. It's... beneath you."  
  
"It's beneath _you_," Peter clarified. "It's where I am. I don't need excuses. I am depressed. I'm sorry; I know it reflects badly on you."  
  
Nathan gave a heavy, resigned sigh. "I love you, Peter," he said, shrugging, not knowing what else to say.  
  
"I love you too, Nathan. I'm glad you want me." Peter broke into a smile. "And I'm glad we're here. I wish we never had to leave."  
  
"We do have to go get dinner. So you should come inside, and wash up, and put on your nice clothes - you did bring nice clothes, didn't you?"  
  
"Nice enough for Vermont. Until Mom and Dad get here. They're gonna yell at me."  
  
"Now, now, Peter, I let you feel sorry for yourself for ten whole minutes. Stop it now. Or... no more kisses."  
  
"Oh... well, if it's like that..."  
  
***  
The diner in town was a lot nicer than Peter had expected, and their food was great - although anything would have been great after clumsy sandwiches, oversteeped coffee, and waffles out of a mix. They even had cloth napkins. And the general store next door, which Peter entered just moments before they flipped the CLOSED sign, indeed had personal lubricant in the tiny pharmacy section.  
  
The little old lady at the checkstand looked at the package, then at Peter. "No condoms?" she asked, startling him.  
  
"Uh, no! It's just for me," Peter replied in a strangled voice, paid, and got the hell out of there, his face as red as a tomato. He slid back into the booth opposite Nathan, and Nathan looked up from the newspaper with one eyebrow elegantly arched in disapproval.  
  
"I assume the expedition was successful?" Nathan drawled, and when Peter gave a shaky nod, returned his eyes to the paper. It took someone as closely attuned to Nathan as Peter was to notice that some color had crept into Nathan's cheeks as well.  
  
Back at the house, they poured what was left of the bourbon into glasses with ice, and retreated to the bedroom again. Nathan sat down onto the freshly-sheeted bed, watching Peter slowly disrobing, his body a selection of graceful curves and planes, intermittently lit by shafts of moonlight coming through the window. "Lay down," Nathan said, patting the bath towels laid out next to him. "You feel okay?"  
  
"Yes," Peter replied, his voice quiet and passive, as though he were hypnotized.  
  
"You feel up to it?"  
  
"I want you to fuck my ass 'til there are tears coming out of my eyes. You feel up to _that_?" Peter lay down, posing invitingly, holding his glass up to his lips and taking a big swig.  
  
"I'm gonna sleep all day tomorrow," Nathan warned, taking the glass from Peter's fingers and rubbing the cold, wet edge against Peter's nipples before setting the glass down on the bedside table. "No waking me up in the morning. You get horny tomorrow, you're on your own." Nathan twisted the moistened nipples roughly between his fingertips, belying the quiet, patient menace of his voice.  
  
"It's — it's a deal."  
  
Nathan took his time preparing Peter's ass, using just his tongue and his spit at first, then adding spit- and ice-wet fingers, then lubed fingers. Peter felt a quick sharp flicker inside him, and a sudden swell of moisture onto the towel underneath him. "Oh, man, that was a fake one," he said, running his fingers through the puddle, then pulling it out and looking at it; it was semen all right. "Okay, that didn't even count."  
  
"Sure it did."  
  
"I barely even felt it."  
  
"How 'bout this?" Nathan said mildly, forcing three fingers inside, then slapping the back of that wrist with the other hand. Peter let out a low groan. "Do you feel that?" Nathan's voice became breathy and halting. "Is it good? Can I taste it next time?"  
  
"Now," Peter whispered, shifting over. "Do it now. Quick!"  
  
Nathan kept his fingers thrusting inside, while Peter stroked himself in counterpoint. Nathan moved Peter's hand, taking Peter's cock into his mouth, drawing that orgasm, and the immediately following one, from Peter with smooth, insistent strokes.  
  
Peter never had a chance to stop crying out, to catch his breath, before Nathan covered him, belly to belly, sliding his cock into Peter's slick and willing hole, and crushing his mouth in a kiss. Nathan leaned back, raised Peter's bent knees, lifting his hips a few inches from the surface of the bed, driving into him. Peter screamed so loudly that Nathan grabbed one of the spare towels from the pillow and jammed a corner into Peter's mouth. Peter gratefully bit down on the dry and tasteless terrycloth, still screaming without being able to help it. Peter knew he must have sounded ridiculous, but there was just so much going on... the most sensations he had ever experienced in his life. So many feelings at once. There were never words invented to express them.  
  
How had he lived without this for so long?  
  
Nathan groaned and panted and gasped, too, so much more than he ever had before. "You like that?" he hissed. "You want tears? I'll give you tears. You want to hurt? You want to get off? What do you want? I'll give it to you. You're mine, goddammit. _You are mine_."  
  
Peter wondered if he even could stop coming, now. He had been locked into the spasming reflex for so long that it cramped, and he felt almost nothing but pain. Peter withstood that sensation for as long as he could before he fumbled the towel out of his mouth with tingling fingers. "Oh God, please stop, please," he begged. "It hurts — I can't take anymore — I can't breathe — _please_, stop!"  
  
Nathan halted immediately, even though he threw back his head and gave a drawn-out groan of agony. He carefully withdrew, lowering Peter onto the surface of the bed before attacking his own cock with his hand, fingers jerking too fast to follow. Peter struggled to focus his eyes so that he could watch. Nathan moaned through gritted teeth, and ejaculated so hard that most of the spunk hit Peter's chest and neck. Peter smiled ecstatically, rubbing Nathan's semen into his nipples and down to his belly, rubbing it into his cock, mixing it with his own come, puddled on his skin.  
  
"God... you look so hot," Nathan murmured.  
  
"Yes, thank you," Peter replied, his voice distant.  
  
Nathan traced his finger along Peter's cheekbone, gathering up the single tear that Peter had wept, then traced Peter's pectoral muscles, and down the curve of his rib cage. "Did I hurt you?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Probably," Peter said, feeling no pain whatsoever at the moment. "I asked you to."  
  
"I... don't want to hurt you."  
  
"But you will if I ask you to?" Peter pressed, and Nathan nodded without meeting Peter's eyes. "Okay, that's all we need to know. That's okay. I don't want to hurt you either, but I will if you ask me to."  
  
Then Nathan did look up and meet Peter's eyes, and they both realized at once that, despite what they'd said, what they'd like to believe, that they did want to hurt each other. Absolutely. Got pleasure from it. Felt that the other deserved it.  
  
It was a sin they couldn't confess to each other, not now, not so close. But it was true — erotic and horrible and true — and they knew that it would have to be explored, one of these days.  
  
Or maybe not. Everything between them was dangerous. This should have never happened in the first place; now that it had, it should never happen again.  
  
And of course, it would. It had to.  
  
Nathan sighed, gathering up towels, cleaning up, cleaning up Peter. "Can I go back to sleep now?" he whined.  
  
Peter couldn't help smiling, feeling exhaustion settling over him, too. "Yes, Nathan, you can go back to sleep," he agreed. "Will you bring me coffee in bed tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure, as long as you don't mind waiting until noon."  
  
"It's a deal," was Peter's grudging reply.

**Author's Note:**

> [original end note] Forgive how cracked out this is - and please enjoy the sci-fi geek in-jokes, of which there are many. Nathan rather is a scoundrel, don't you think?... 
> 
> Ritual Reader's Guide [to come]


End file.
